Slow Ride

This was the longest wedding reception in the history of the world. She wished it were over—which truly was saying something, since it was her wedding reception.

Jack leaned closer and whispered, “Stop sighing.”

His warm breath sent goose bumps cascading down the right side of her body. Keely turned her head so his five o’clock shadow scraped her jaw. She closed her eyes and inhaled his familiar scent: cologne, starch on his shirt collar and the underlying hint of his heated flesh.

Jack Donohue. Her husband. She really and truly was married to this gorgeous, sexy, intense man.

Keely sighed again, not out of annoyance, but out of pure pleasure.

He smiled against her cheek. “Now that’s a sigh I recognize.”

“I have different sounding sighs?”

“Uh-huh. You make that one in bed after I—”

“Bringing up sex when we aren’t having any just makes me cranky, Jack.”

His soft chuckle tickled her ear.

“It’s not funny. Why aren’t we rolling around in bed nekkid right now?” she demanded in a fierce whisper. “We are married. Why are we still stuck at the reception? No one would care if we left.”

He eased back to gaze into her eyes. “As much as I can’t wait to roll around naked with you, if we skip out early, your dad will kill me, turning you into a widow before you’ve had a chance to be a wife.” His voice dropped an octave and the possessive rumble vibrated through her in an electric caress. “My wife.”

“You certainly get off on saying my wife.”

“Yes, I do, Keely McKay Donohue. So go ahead and call me a Neanderthal.”

“I would if it meant you’d employ some caveman tactics and drag me off to your cave. Right now?” she asked hopefully.

“God, I wish.”

“Jack, I—”

The chinking of silverware hitting glassware crescendoed . Knowing what the crowd of family and friends wanted, Keely twined her arms around Jack’s neck and gave him a long, wet, tongue-tangling kiss that probably caused some guests to squirm in their seats. She didn’t give a damn. It was her wedding day. If she wanted to make out with her husband, she damn well would.

When they broke apart, Jack murmured, “Two more hours and I swear we’re outta here.”

“I’m holding you to that.”

“I’d expect nothing less, buttercup.”

“So where are we going in one hour and fifty-nine minutes?”

He kissed her temple and said, “It’s a surprise,” for the millionth time. Then his brother Justin snagged his attention and he turned away.

Sneaky-ass tease. Jack hadn’t told her where they were spending their two-week island honeymoon beyond the cryptic hint that she only needed to pack beachwear—preferably a dozen skimpy bikinis.

Normally he’d spill his guts if she bribed him with unlimited, no-strings-attached sexual favors. But this time, the stubborn man wouldn’t budge.

After the Twin Pines banquet workers cleared the dinner plates, the head table was disassembled to make room for the wedding dance and members of the wedding party were relocated. Which would’ve been fine with her, if she and Jack hadn’t ended up on opposite sides of the dance floor.

A hard bump connected with her hip as AJ McKay—her best friend, matron of honor and sister-in-law—sidled up beside her. “Why the frowny face, Mrs. Donohue?”

She plastered on a fake grin. “Better?”

“No, that’s actually worse. What’s up? You seem jumpy.”

Would she sound like a horny ho-bag if she admitted all she could think about was jumping her husband? Wait. Could she even be a ho-bag if she was obsessed about having nonstop, shake-the-barn-rafters sex with the man she’d just pledged the rest of her life to?